


it's like touching dicks with an alternate universe mirror

by salvadore



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types
Genre: Hate Sex, Implied off-screen violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 15:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6475507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/pseuds/salvadore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce would love to punch Tony's face, but he'll settle for having sex with him instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's like touching dicks with an alternate universe mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Originally comment fic (2013). I'm kind of proud of it. Zero canon required.

Bruce thinks that there ought to be a law in place that forbids Tony from bringing the Iron Man suit with him Gotham. He gets why Tony brings it with him everywhere; Bruce's life is similar enough that if it weren't for the power he finds in anonymity that he would've just let the whole world know by now that he's Batman. It is safer for Tony - bright shining, money flashing Tony Stark - to bring his suit with him everywhere even if he's adopted Bruce's trick of drinking ginger ale and is sharper now in sobriety, where he used to be drunk from when he woke up until he passed out, pouring back the harsh comfort of Southern Comfort like it was keeping that hardware in his chest running. Tony can make an enemy in thirty seconds of conversation. 

But as much as Bruce can commiserate with having a target on your back, he hates when Tony lands on the Wayne grounds like he isn't making a spectacle out of both of them. Tony doesn't even pretend he's there for business. Bruce would rather fight in conference rooms, shoving and fucking on the long tables, leave with rug burns and bite marks. He wants things between them to go unacknowledged. Instead he has hundreds of paparazzi outside his gates to herald Tony's next visit. 

Tony flips the mask up and grins. With each step his suit peels away into a suitcase in his left hand. He lifts his right to Bruce, as if they are business partners shaking over the success of their latest collaboration. Wayne Enterprises has been chasing a contract with Stark Industries for years with nothing to show for it. Lawyers were hired just to argue in place of Tony and Bruce. They were too evenly matched at picking at each other's flaws and they rose to rages too easily around each other, the companies couldn't afford them killing each other. 

“Get the fuck off my property, Stark,” Bruce says as he steps in close, turning the handshake into a one armed hug and hissing the words into Tony's ear. It's a mistake, but there isn't a good way of dealing with Tony. Not matter what Tony is going to walk into the manor like he is welcome and Bruce can't stop him short of breaking his arm. 

The suit would come to life and try to leave a hole in his chest the size of an iron fist. Bruce isn't nearly arrogant enough to take on the suit in his bathrobe. 

“You look tired,” Tony says, leading Bruce into his own house. He doesn't set the suit down until he's reached the dining area. Then it goes on the table by his elbow, never leaving his sight. “Are all of the wonder children out?”

Without the suit he's just wearing sweats and a tank top, so at least they're evenly matched in regards to decorum. Bruce won't be the only one in the papers in his pajamas. 

Nearly no one in the business of tabloids bothers digging up dirt on the debutantes that Bruce brings to events anymore – not with Tony coming and going from the manor more and more often. 

“You can shut your mouth,” Bruce returns, tired and falling into a chair across from Tony. There isn't a point in fighting. Tony knows better than anyone about the traffic, or lack thereof, in the Batcave. And he looks as sleepless as Bruce, and he is playing off a clear migraine by pretending that the fingers he's pressing against his temple are just holding his head up. Tony licks his lips, but he looks bored in the seduction. Bruce's body is a canvas of bruises beneath his clothes and he's sure Tony is the same way. They're always evenly matched.

And yet, they both strip, murmuring how much they hate each other, as their limbs twinge with the effort of pulling their shirts over their heads. Tony runs his fingers over the bright bruising from Bruce's latest dislocation of his shoulder. He says some shit about Bruce taking care of himself that Bruce cuts off with throwing himself into a kiss, and their teeth clack harshly before Bruce bites Tony's tongue to shut him up. It doesn't help. 

“Your joints can't withstand your punishment, Bruce.” 

Bruce shoves Tony until he's pressed against the wall beside the window. No one can see them here. Bruce grows silent and Tony gets louder. He should've anticipated the cheap shot Tony lands to Bruce's kidney. But Bruce is getting too old to throw Tony on the table and fight for a fuck, so he takes Tony in hand and cradles him like he isn't the asshole playboy Bruce pretends to be. 

They don't feel any better after, lounging naked against expensive furniture, drinking the gold leaf champagne Tony brought with him.


End file.
